vicissitudenoun, [vi-sis-i-tood, -tyood]

  1. a change or variation occurring in the course of something.
  2. interchange or alternation, as of states or things.
  3. vicissitudes, successive, alternating, or changing phases or conditions, as of life or fortune; ups and downs.
  4. regular change or succession of one state or thing to another.
  5. change; mutation; mutability.

I’m finding that college is less of a monstrous shock and more of these gradual realizations, like flickering candles put out and illuminated, extinguishing and lighting my thoughts in moments when I am most vulnerable—inside a dingy practice room, splayed on the lawn, along the salad bar line, in the eye of a conversation. Many moments of me simply realizing, I am here, and this is where I’ll be for the next few months, years. I need to buy an umbrella. I want a dracaena to name Kamaji. I’ve got anxiety. I love poetry but I don’t know how to talk about it in a seminar. 

The dormitory lounge has this phrase embedded above the fireplace: hold fast to the spirit of youth, let years to come do what they may. It’s good advice with a generous dash of collegiate pride. (As expected).

There’s a storm warning today, some tropical surge, and my little California heart can’t believe it. Like, holy firecrackers, a storm? Winds up to 65mph? Heavy rain? High impact surges? What a world, what a world.